


just like the ones i used to know

by girl0nfire



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: BuckyNat Secret Santa, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, POV Natasha Romanov, james barnes is a giant spoiled man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9244880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: A quiet winter moment, after the end.





	

Liho hasn’t quite _come to terms_ , it seems, with the **intruder** in his spot.

(The stalemate unfolds slowly, characterized by slow advance and rapid retreat; Liho stands sentry on the arm of the couch near the unfamiliar pair of feet, never _too_ close, simply **waiting** , ears pricked, _leaping away_ to skitter off each time the stranger so much as _sighs_ in his sleep.)

But he gets braver, as time wanders on, the clock above the stove ticking toward _late_ \- it’d been a long day, after all, one of _many_ , neither the **first** nor the last - snagging a tentative claw in a pant leg, tail switching, paws _light_ on the cushions as he prowls across the back of the couch, his head swaying slightly as if to sniff the air, discern who this _interloper_ could be.  It’s an hour, maybe two, before Liho decides he’s finally seen **enough** , that it must be _safe enough_ to venture closer to her, taking up his favored spot on the arm of the couch near Natasha’s elbow, greeting her with an emphatic **bump** of his head against the back of her hand.

_Pointed_ , of course - that’s **his** hand, too, what’s she doing?  Why’s it _busy_?

Natasha’s fingers still, pausing their meandering path through thick, dark hair and their **visitor** huffs something in his sleep again.

(Liho **bolts** at the sound and well, _that’s why that hand’s busy_.)

She’s left alone for a while, nothing but the comfortable silence of the living room, the _hush_ of the snow falling outside, the gentle rhythm of James’ sleep-soft breaths to keep her company.  It’s a rarity - or _is it?_  Perhaps it simply feels like one **now** because it still feels _new_ \- and Natasha feels no shame in _indulging_ , her free hand sliding to settle in the center of his chest where he’s stretched out beside her, her fingertips still trailing through his hair.  And they stay like this, _suspended_ , just the **proximity** enough to fill the time - as if she’d even be able to _consider_ moving away, with him so peaceful, so _close_.

They hadn’t needed much time, the pair of them, to fall back into step; there’d been enough **negotiation** , she’d learned, in the years spent _apart_ \- on **both**  of their behalves.

(Finding out the **reason** why she’d always migrated toward the bed’s right side had felt almost like an _epiphany_.)

Eventually, Liho returns, unnoticed by either of the couch’s occupants until his **bravery** catches Natasha’s eye - it’s a series of careful steps, the _lightest touch_ , but apparently **her attention** outweighs his wariness of the _stranger_ and soon, he’s nudging his head beneath the palm she’d left to rest against James’ heartbeat, fur soft beneath her fingertips.  This silly cat’s always purred like he was _belt-fed_ and now’s no different, the gentle vibration of it weaving around her hand, solid and **warm** , and James must ---

“Told you,” his eyes are still closed, but his left hand arcs up slowly, silver fingertips settling around the curve of her wrist - _familiar,_ “he was gonna warm up to me, eventually.”

As if on cue, Liho stretches, front paws reaching for the front of James’ shirt to _knead_ , claws bright as they flex just before sinking into the fabric.

(Well played.)

“Oh, _c’mon ---_ ”

Natasha can’t quite stifle the laugh, and she wouldn’t _want to_ , the tableau is too good - James, one eye open, still half-asleep and _frowning_ , the sleep-softened lines of his face pulled downward into something that’s coming **dangerously** close to a _pout_ , both hands at his chest, now, to carefully extricate the cat’s claws from the front of his sweater.  There’s a _huff_ of wasted effort, purely for her benefit, she’s sure, but it doesn’t matter; Liho goes _willingly_ , because the only thing more **interesting** than her attention, apparently, are the gleaming metal fingers he’s being confronted with for the first time.

“ _Ow ---_ ”

“He’s not **hurting you** , don’t be a _baby,_ ” Natasha swats at James’ head lightly, all _fondness_ , reaching up to scratch gently between Liho’s ears as his paws grip at James’ left hand, pink tongue dragging across the pad of a silver finger - _what is this, now?_

“ **Could** be,” James retorts, _edgeless_ , the words warm, round, a tip of his head backward nudging against her palm still brushing lightly over his hair.  But he flexes his hand, wrist rotating slightly with the softest _click_ of recalibration, and the cool streetlamp light filtering in from the living room’s window reflects across the plates, drawing Liho’s attention so _quickly_ that when the small thing pulls away, his tongue is still half-out, an almost _comical_ look of phenomenal concentration on his face.  “He don’t _know that_ , what kinda operation you **running** here?”

There’s something so _familiar_ about the tip of his smile, the curve of his cheek when she looks down at him that Natasha’s chest **aches** , for a moment, not hollow but _overfull_ \- that feeling she’s _always_ associated with him, she knows now.

(The sweetest bit of _remembrance_ is walking through a room that’s always felt **empty** only to find it filled with beautiful things, knowing you could reach right out and _touch_ and they would remain solid, beneath your hand.

Natasha’s walked through _so many_ stripped-bare rooms that she’d once believed that was all she was meant to call **home** .  That only makes _this one_ seem all the more perfect - _home_ , she knows now - _always knew_ , before - hasn’t ever really **been** a single place.)

“Oh, you **caught me** , didn’t you?”

A brow arches toward her hairline, the studious avoidance of a **smirk** keeping the twitch at the corners of her mouth almost _invisible_ \- he’ll still **see it** , but only because she’d _like him to_.

“Meet my new **partner** , Barnes, consider yourself _demoted_.”

Liho makes another frantic grab for James’ wrist, succeeding only in the kind of enthusiastic _headbutt_ that makes a dull **thunk** against his palm, and their laughs sound like they _belong_ together, some kind of harmony, high and low and _intertwined_ \- like his fingers reaching for his, drawing them away from his hair to press a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, the shape of his mouth against her skin a surer path than any other she can _ever_ remember taking.

“Does that mean I get to go back to my nap? Or --- ”

There’s a _boyish_ tilt to the words, a **youth** in him Natasha’s not certain she’ll ever tire of seeing, because he **deserves** it.

“If you want,” she replies, squeezing his hand gently as he turns hers over, lips brushing against the rhythm of the pulse at her wrist - he must be able to feel the _honesty_ , there.

“I’ll be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> My BuckyNat Secret Santa 2016 gift for [isnri](http://isnri.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr! They asked for 'Lounging around. Sweetness and banter would be great!' and honestly, that sounded like the Most Fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
